


Cumulari

by Constance



Series: Cumulari [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Banter, F/M, First Time, Relationship(s), Spuffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-26
Updated: 2011-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-15 02:50:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Constance/pseuds/Constance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Early Season Six. Buffy and Spike get drunk. There's shenanigans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cumulari

  
**Chapter One**   


Buffy swung open the door to Spike's crypt almost silently. Somehow dying had taken all the joy from busting it open, seeing if she could take the solid old oak right off its cast iron hinges and startle the vampire inside. Since her resurrection it just didn't seem funny any more to give the undead heart attacks, so she turned the handle and let the door swing open. The upper level was in silent darkness, a faint glow of candlelight coming from the trapdoor. Quietly Buffy descended the ladder.

Her missing sister was curled up on Spike's bed, completely buried by just a corner of his luxurious quilt, only the top of her head showing. Spike himself was sprawled in his usual careless fashion, fast asleep across the pillows, obviously naked though the quilt was covering his lower half.

Buffy froze, something sick and angry twisting inside her stomach at the sight of her sister sleeping so peacefully next to something that even in sleep looked so sinful.

********

Spike woke as a warm hand clamped over his mouth and strong fingers yanked him from the bed. The scent of Buffy was surrounding him, as was the scent of last nights Jack; Spike didn't think to struggle until he realised she was going to toss him straight down into the sewer tunnels and by then he was already flying through the air. He landed with a painful thump, closely followed by a dirty pair of jeans. Spike started to pull them on as the Slayer jumped down after him, barely having time to tuck his tackle inside before she was attacking.

The first blow landed on the softest part of his nose with enough force to send the vampire back into the stone wall of the tunnel and he yowled in pain. He shook his head, fuzzy with sleep and booze and now concussion, and tried to remember what the hell he'd done this time.

"Did you touch her?" Buffy spat.

Spike struggled to his feet as she loomed over him. It was a slower manouvre than usual and a mistake, putting him at a nice height to be kicked in the head.

"Easy, Slayer," he gasped as his body bounced off the opposite wall.

For a second he assumed she'd cracked, turned murderous by the strain of life after heaven but the predator stalking after him wasn't feral, just mad as hell. This time Spike stayed down, holding his hands up placatingly, but that didn't help either. She punched again, he ducked his head and her fist hit the wall. Spike thought he heard knuckle bones crack but it didn't stop her pulling back her arm to hit again.

"Did I touch who?" he asked, a little desperately. There was no stake out yet but from the look of her that was an oversight and Spike didn't want to die with no buggering clue what was going on.

"Dawn! Did you... touch her?"

Oh. Spike stood up and threw her off.

"You think I'm dicking your little sister?" he asked incredulously.

Buffy hesitated a second but still punched him again, square on the jaw and Spike was momentarily so angry he punched her back. "You fucking bitch!"

But the eyes that stared back at him were so tired and overwhelmed it seemed as if anger was the only thing keeping her standing. And Spike finally noticed the other scent that had surrounded him since he'd woken up, put it together with fuzzy drunken memories and realised this wasn't this week's excuse to kick the crap out of Spike but a real and immediate fear.

"What am I supposed to think? You were naked!" Despite her resolve not to wake the sleeping teen on the upper level her voice was raised by that last word. She threw another punch but it lacked venom and this time Spike managed to dance out of reach.

"I wasn't expecting company!" he yelled back. "I was asleep, Buffy."

"Oh." She checked her next punch mid swing. The tiny bit of fire that had carried her this far went out and her shoulders slumped. "You didn't know she was there?"

"Well not really," the vampire admitted with a guilty shuffle. "I was three sheets to the wind, love, I don't really remember." The Slayer's eyes flashed and Spike took another step back, held up his hands again. "Don't hit me! I didn't touch her, Buffy. Never laid a finger on her, not in any wrong way."

She stopped her advance but her hands were still tight fists, posture ready to move. "I kept my promise," the vampire added pleadingly. "Not when it counted, not when it would have helped you, but since. I kept her safe. And I ain't so stupid about humans that I think I could fuck her without causing her harm, I _wouldn't_ , okay? Not even if she asked me to."

Though her eyes didn't leave his and the look was far from friendly Buffy's hands opened, arms fell limply by her sides.

"May have had a bottle or two last night," he continued slowly, trying oh so hard to keep his voice calm and not put his foot back in his mouth. "But I went to sleep all alone in my own bed. And I woke up, least I think... Think I remember pulling the duvet over her, she was sleeping. And so was I, mostly, and pretty wasted okay? I didn't think to send her home. I'm sorry."

"Oh," said Buffy again, and not for the first time Spike wondered if all of her had really come back from the dead. In movement she was the same Slayer he remembered, purposeful, graceful, and deadly. But when it came to the girl, sometimes there didn't seem to be anyone there at all.

"Done it plenty before," Spike said to fill the silence. "She didn't want to sleep in your house when you were... when you weren't there. Stayed with Red for a bit, then they decided it would be best to all move into your house, only Niblet wasn't having it. Stayed with the whelp, her friends, anything. When the witches tried to force the issue she'd sneak out. I guess I got used to her being there, it didn't make much of an impression when I noticed her, y'know?"

"My friends let my baby sister sleep over at your crypt?" Now the anger had gone there was no emotion left in Buffy's voice. Not even sarcasm.

"No. But she's an inventive little thing and... It always seemed cruel to wake her up and take her back to the place she couldn't sleep." Pointedly Spike wiped the blood from his upper lip. "You ain't the first to bust in here accusing me of kiddy fiddling."

"Right. I shouldn't have..."

Spike waited, wondering for a second if she was actually going to say sorry, but it seemed the Slayer was done with that sentence. The vampire shrugged. "Not exactly against my moral code, my tastes just don't run to flat chested, noisy, hormonal stick insects. And I wouldn't hurt you or yours, one day you're gonna realise that."

Buffy nodded absently, Spike wasn't sure if she'd even heard what he said, wondered why she wasn't waking up Dawn and heading for home. "And I've got too much regard for my own hide to be boning your sister now you're around to stake me for it."

Uh-oh, she heard that alright. Narrowed her eyes then to Spike's surprise gave him a tired half smile. " _Okay_ , I get it. I was... being stupid."

Well that was pretty close to an apology. He smiled back and she compounded his surprise by stringing two statements together. "Why did she... Why's she here now?"

"Dunno Slayer. She'd pretty much stopped, before. The bot was at your place and very nearly everyone else and... Well time heals, doesn't it? Maybe," he suggested bravely, "she was worried about you."

"So she sneaks out in the middle of the night and scares me half to death?"

"Teenager, pet," answered Spike with the tone of a parent who'd learnt from hard experience. "If they made sense people wouldn't write so many bloody books about them."

"No. I should take the little brat home."

Spike nodded, but she was already ascending the ladder. Dawn was still curled up tightly, undisturbed by the fighting or the shouting.

"You want me to carry her?" Spike offered, following her through the trapdoor. Really he just wanted to pick Buffy up and snuggle her into the bed next to Dawn, in a way that had nothing to do with kinky threesomes. If anything she looked worse than in the first few days after her return, like every day was getting harder, every communication a frowning effort

"It'll be light soon. She needs to go to school, I should wake her." But she hovered uncertainly a few feet from the bed, just watching Dawn sleep.

"May I?" asked Spike, stepping up beside her.

"May you what?"

Spike just winked in answer, leaned over the bed until he was inches from the sleeping girl. "Just got my nose broken," he whispered to Buffy. "Think I'm owed a bit of non violent payback. NOW WAKE UP YOU DISOBEDIENT LITTLE HOUDINI AND GET YOUR ARSE TO SCHOOL!"

Both girls jumped at his bellow but it was the still sleepy Dawn who recovered first, burrowing back into the duvet. " _So_ not funny, Spike. Let me sleep."

"No." He yanked the duvet up, she clung on.

"Cold!" Dawn whined sleepily.

"Evil!" responded the vampire.

"Gimme," she pulled back on the cover, opened one venomous eye. "Gimme or I'll tell my sister you slept with me." Spike froze, cast a wary eye over to the Slayer, but Buffy was just standing with her arms folded watching them argue. Dawn followed his line of sight and finally spotted her sister. "Oh. Hey Buffy!"

"Your bed was empty," said the Slayer stiffly. "I was worried."

"I um... came to visit Spike, but he was unconscious. I didn't mean to go to sleep." She turned her head to repeat this last to the vampire. "Really, I didn't mean to, I was just going to wait for you to wake up so you could walk me home. Did you get drunk and fall on your face again? 'cause your nose is kinda broken."

In answer he tilted his head toward her sister.

"Oh. Oh! No!" she said to Buffy. "It wasn't-"

"We've covered that one," interrupted the vampire. And because the Slayer was still standing there, arms folded, saying nothing, he added, "We're moving on to the part where you snuck out in the middle of the night, like take out on legs. Again. And got my nose smeared across my face. Again. And accused of molesting you. Again. Like I'd want to take up with a child that wears Backstreet Boys pyjamas, because my reputation isn't ruined enough."

He growled at her for good measure but that trick had stopped working a year ago and that particular lecture was old hat to the teen. To be fair to Spike he wasn't at his most intimidating, shirtless and a little battered with hopelessly cute bed hair.

"They're _Nsync_ pyjamas and I'm not a child! I know stuff!"

"You'll know the back of my hand, you try that trick again."

Nose to nose now, squaring up for a regular old squabble. Buffy just watched, bemusedly.

"You like it kinky?"

"You'd break like a twig, you little-"

"Hey!" interrupted the Slayer forcefully. "Unpleasant mental image."

The vampire stepped back quickly, holding his hands up to ward off any more violence. Her attention drawn back to her still fragile sister, Dawn was immediately the model child again.

"I'm sorry, Buffy. I didn't mean to worry you, I just couldn't sleep."

"Well let’s get you home, it's time for breakfast. A very important thing, breakfast."

********

When Buffy let herself down to the lower level of the crypt Spike was sprawled out in the same decadent pose as the night before. His wiry and naked frame managing to take up most of his spacious bed, this time without her little sister curled up next to him. Though the creak of the heavy door had not woken him, his head shot up as Buffy cleared her throat. It took a split second to register his visitor, then Spike was looking around him wildly.

"She's not here." He pulled the duvet around himself, a gesture more about defence than modesty. "You're not in a killing mood, are you Slayer? 'Cause I think I'm still too pissed to run away."

The Slayer held up her hands to show they were stake free, though Spike knew she could hide those babies in the most unlikely of outfits.

"I wanted to apologise. For, y'know, assuming, and not..." She trailed off, as she did often nowadays, as if nothing was really worth saying.

"That's okay," said Spike softly. "Can see how it must've looked."

Buffy shuffled uncomfortably and looked at the floor. "So we're good? You'll stop being angry with me?"

The vampire raised a surprised eyebrow. "Wasn't angry love, I know how you get over your sister. A little hurt, maybe," he added hopefully. "Wanna kiss it better?"

But Buffy ignored his leer. "You said you were pissed."

"Drunk, pet. Soused. One or several over the eight. Got me back to Willie's after you took your sis home, guess I ended up back here. And since when do you care what I think?"

"I don't," said Buffy quickly. "Are you... still sleepy?"

"I'm alright." The vampire ran his hand through his hair, tried to shake his head sober. "Summat you need, Slayer?"

She shook her head mutely but made no move to leave. Spike pulled the covers tightly round his lower half and patted the bed invitingly. Buffy stared uncomprehendingly for a second, then to Spike's relief moved to sit down. "I didn't want anything. I just came to say sorry for breaking your nose."

"You said that already," said Spike gently. He reached out to take her hand, Buffy stared at his fingers like she didn't quite know what they were but didn't pull her hand away. "And I said it's okay. You're more than welcome to come in here and wrestle me naked any time it takes your fancy."

She gave him a brief, absent smile and again Spike got the uneasy feeling she wasn't really hearing his words, just responding to his teasing tone of voice. Extending that vacant human politeness to the vampire. But even if she wasn't listening the eerie silence was worse than not talking.

"She shouldn't have been here, sneaking out like that, and I shouldn't have let her stay. There's no need to apologise."

"Dawn told me to," said Buffy matter-of-factly, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to be taking instructions from a younger sister. "She said Giles did the same thing."

The vampire snorted. "Broke a lot more than my nose. Niblet had to pull him off or I'd'a been a gonner; fortunately I was fully clothed that time." He grinned at Buffy but she was staring, unseeing, at his slender fingers encasing her own. "Get's me into a lot of trouble, your sis. Considering I'm supposed to be the evil one."

"She told me. Tara too. Thanks for looking after her."

Spike gave her a bitter little smile. "Any time you need someone to get thrown off a tower by a tiny pensioner demon, I'm your man."

Buffy looked up. "Is that what happened?" she asked vaguely. "I was fighting Glory. Or maybe climbing the tower. No one's really... said much about that fight. Anyway, I was talking about when I was gone, thank you for keeping her safe. All of them safe. Tara said you patrolled and stuff."

"Didn't make you any less dead. Took a little girl and her geek friends for that."

Buffy flinched at the words, Spike squeezed her hand contritely. "It was supposed to happen," said Buffy quietly. "I don't think you could have stopped it."

The words 'I'm supposed to be dead' hung unsaid at the end of that sentence, chilling to Spike. "You should tell them," he said abruptly, knowing where her thoughts tended. "Tell them what they did."

"Maybe," Buffy shrugged. "But I'm not going to. And neither are you." Her voice was flat, subject closed. She didn't even bother to add a threat to her voice for those last few words.

"Right," drawled the vampire sarcastically. "Wait till it drives you insane then have yourself a massacre, my kind of plan Slayer."

He'd half hoped for a grin, but Buffy shivered. "Does waking up in a box every night count as insanity?"

"No, pet. Reliving trauma, that's normal. Even Oprah agrees on that one."

"What about being chased down an endless corridor by a guidance counsellor with an axe? Or being strangled by my own plumbing system?"

"Sunnydale, those are valid concerns. Not been sleeping so good, huh?"

It was an unnecessary question, every sleepless night plainly illustrated by the deep shadows under her eyes. The extra lines that hadn't been on the face of the Slayer they'd put in the ground. She was silent a long time, considering her answer or maybe just zoning out.

"Not at all," she confessed eventually. "If you wake up suffocating often enough it kinda puts you off the whole sleep experience."

He squeezed her hand again but she wouldn't look up to meet his eye. They sat in awkward silence for long minutes, Spike for once at a loss for words. "You'll get better," he said firmly but she didn't even bother acknowledging this empty cliche.

"Your sis used to dream about disappearing. That she'd wake up in the morning and you'd all have forgotten who she was. Or that you'd come back, strange enough. In more of a brain eating mood. Said it was always worse in her own bed, where she should be safe."

"She said you helped," said Buffy hesitantly. "She said she could sleep here, she felt comfortable."

"Well I gave the place a bit of a makeover-" Spike cut himself off and gave her a sharp look, but it was hard to read her thoughts through a curtain of hair. "And it's a comfy bed," he added slowly. "Could do with a couple more hours myself."

Buffy still wouldn't look at him as he shuffled over, wriggling down into the bed under his luxurious quilt. But when he pulled down the far corner she kicked off her shoes and curled up on the bed beside him, facing away. Careful to keep the duvet between herself and his naked form he covered her up, draped an arm over the covers and Buffy underneath, not exactly hugging but firmly enough that she would need to utilize the Slayer strength to shift him.

The excess of last night's alcohol was still buzzing, the smell and almost feel of Buffy laying in his bed was adding a whole other kind of high. And okay, Spike could admit it, maybe there was a tiny bit of warm fuzziness mixed in there. Beneath the concern and the sexual attraction, the knowledge that she would come to him for help of the non-violent kind, trust him enough to lay in his bed and close her eyes, well it warmed him. He refused to believe it was a case of any port in a storm.

"I'm so _tired_ ," said Buffy, in a tiny, plaintive voice. Spike imagined he could hear a warning in there too.

"You mean no groping? Okay," he agreed serenely, not moving an inch. "Just this once, mind, not sure I can hold out longer'n a few hours."

"Spike..." Buffy twisted her neck to look at him as she spoke, thinking she was about to change her mind and leave the vampire cut her off.

"Kidding, okay? Get some rest, you're safe here."

She gave him a tiny smile and snuggled back into the pillows. "I was only going to say thank you."

 ****

Chapter Two

This time it was a clear week before Buffy returned to the crypt. Spike spent many idle hours of darkness chain-smoking in her front garden, and though the vampire was certain she always knew he was out there she never once came out for a chat.

The need for Buffy gazing seemed to have gotten worse since she'd spent the night in his bed. Though he had genuinely intended to go back to sleep, Spike had been drawn into listening to her heartbeat, enticed into wakefulness by the scent of warm Slayer and the sight of her face unmarred by worry. When he'd finally dozed off it was nearly light and she hadn't moved once. When he'd awoken at midday she'd been long gone, not even a lingering warmth where she'd lain. But five hours hadn't been enough of a fix to tide him over for five whole days. Finding it harder and harder to refrain from just walking into her house, on the sixth night of their patrols never quite crossing, Spike took the night off from trying to stalk a Slayer who was definitely avoiding him and popped out for a few rounds of kitten poker and some beers with the boys.

It had been a lucky night for Spike. Better than winning three Burmese miniatures was discovering their value to the demon world and Spike had happily traded them for a case of wine each. Because it offended the vampire to have so much alcohol sitting around the place undrunk, he'd made good headway before passing out and started again with the afternoon soaps. By nightfall he was on his third bottle, skipping out the fiddly business of a glass, and that would be the evening Buffy turned up. She marched in, prepatrol this time, took the bottle straight out of his hand and raised it to her lips. Paused for just a second, thinking better of it.

"Not blood, right?"

"Only of innocent grapes."

She took a deep swig then shuddered and Spike laughed at her little girl grimace. "Bad day, love?"

"There's another kind?"

"There will be. I've got vodka if you prefer?"

"Is that less gross?"

"Nah, just takes less before it seems tasty. And it'll get you unconscious quicker, if that's what you're looking for?"

She leaned against the sarcophagus next to him with a sigh. "Yes. No. Gotta patrol."

"Just the one glass, then?"

Without waiting for an answer he was off searching for the one glass left in his possession after a very boozy summer. Spike didn't question the medicinal properties of alcohol, it had always worked for him after all. A few blessed hours of not thinking, a good old scrap, and generally he felt better than he had before. And Spike was currently at the best bit of drunkenness, motor functions more or less intact but thinking definitely fuzzy, the stage that has humans dancing in public and occasionally trying karaoke. She took the glass, as innocuous looking as water, without protest but didn't drink.

"So can I assume the six days in between have been more or less okay for you? Seeing as you haven't busted in here all week? Or have you just been avoiding me?" If his voice was a touch sulky he couldn't help it, probably just the wine talking.

Buffy gave him a guilty smile. "I've not been avoiding you, we just haven't happened to bump into each other."

"And as I put in quite a lot of effort, happening to bump into you, it follows that not happening to takes a little work on your part."

She took a sip of her vodka, mostly, the vampire suspected, to avoid answering. Shuddered again as it went down. "Oh that's just disgusting. And I don't think you're supposed to drink vodka in pints." Spike waited patiently and after the requisite amount of shuffling Buffy continued. "Maybe there has been some avoidance. I'm not really a people person nowadays."

"I'm not people."

"No." She took another sip of her vodka, pulled the same dismayed face. "D'you have any soda?"

"Sorry."

"Probably for the best. I need to kill things, there's been a whole bunch of weirdness today, bound to be some big bad out there pulling the strings. Besides, I think that's actually enough vodka to kill me. Giles would be so pissed if I'm the first Slayer to drink herself to death." She put the nearly full glass down on a dusty surface and toed at the bare earth floor with one delicate sandal. "Do you want to come with?"

Spike was already pulling on his duster, the barest wobble in his step as he followed her to the door. "We could hit some of the demon bars. Always something needs killing there."

Buffy shrugged. "Sure."

********

Willy's was dead. That is, Willy's _was_ bustling. Thirty seconds after Spike striding in with the Slayer in tow asking Willy what he had was worth killing, Willy's was dead.

"Way to go with the subtlety, Spike."

"Not my style," he breezed, deftly steering her away from the cemetery and patrol. Though she'd drunk a grain of sand compared to Spike's small mountain it was hard to tell who was more in control. The walking and the not having a drink for fifteen whole minutes thing was starting to sober the vampire and Buffy was actually talking, okay complaining, which suggested to Spike she'd somehow managed to get pissed when he wasn't looking. "Your fault, anyway. Whenever I go in there on my own something tries to beat me up."

She gave him a grim smile. "I get that." Then a wheel turning mood change which had to be down to vodka vapour and she brightened. "Does that mean I'm scarier than you?"

"Your shoes are scarier than me."

He saw the doubt flicker over her face, didn't wait for her to decide which of them he'd just insulted. "I know another place, newish. We'll be subtle this time, have a drink or two, case the joint 'fore they all run away."

********

Unfortunately, a drink or two was over Buffy's limit. Or fortunately, if you happened to be the vampire currently getting a very good view down her blouse and hearing her talk more than he'd ever done before, even if you added all the times she'd ever talked to him all together. One elbow on the damp bar, she'd ceased scanning the establishment for likely slayees and was giving Spike a rambling lament about the horrors of retail, she'd lost him somewhere around slug flavoured candles. There was now no question who was drunker, despite his head start Spike had been playing a game of catch up since the first round had slid across the bar.

Without him noticing, Buffy had moved on to some nonsense about exploding lint. She was talking animatedly, gesturing with the hand that wasn't holding her up, eyes unnaturally bright from the booze, looking alive. Spike knew he should warn her about the morning after but he was enjoying himself too much and it would take a braver vampire than he to cut the Slayer off from her liquor now he'd let the bull out of that particular pen. Still, a break for a spot of violence now might be good before she fell flat on her arse.

"How 'bout we start on the two Rash-maals in the corner?" he suggested. "Not likely to be behind the exploding lint but they're definite people eaters. Give us an exit if the rest pile on?"

Buffy blinked stupidly at him, slowly remembered their original purpose and followed his head tilt to two dinosaur-like demons in a cubby hole near the back door.

"Sure. Just let me finish my drink." She took a big gulp of her vodka and coke, still grimacing though her stomach was full of the stuff. Spike resisted the urge to wipe the dribble off her chin and wondered if she'd be gracing his bed again tonight.

"Thanks," Buffy added.

"No worries, pet. You know I like a good scrap."

"No, I mean..." She broke off, maybe searching for the right words. One finger stirring the ice in her drink and Spike could almost see her mind wander off; it was a minute or two before she snapped back to herself with a shake of her head. "I don't know what I mean. Why are you being so nice to me, anyway?"

Spike rolled his eyes. Same old Slayer, even pissed. "'Cause I wanna get in your pants," he answered with just a touch of sarcasm. "Had you forgotten?"

Buffy frowned, opened her mouth but all the words had been used up on evil lint. "Oh."

She tipped the rest of her drink, ice cubes and all, into her mouth and swallowed. "The two in the corner?" And without waiting for an answer she was off, swaying slightly but heading straight to her target. By the time Spike had caught up one of the dinosaurs was already dead, thick exoskeleton no defence against a broken neck.

"You're doing it wrong," Spike pointed out, the Slayer rounded on him indignantly.

"I've already killed mine!"

"Exactly. Where's the fun in that?"

The remaining reptilian didn't seem to have a huge range of facial expressions but rose out of its too small chair with what Spike assumed was an angry grunt; he punched it in the face.

"You gotta start a fight, get the rest of them riled up, yell stuff."

"Like, all vampires are stupid?"

"Yeah. And also, hey!"

The only other vampire in the bar lifted its head angrily. Not being so bright, he only saw a small drunk blonde girl so he rushed her. Buffy staked him.

"Slayer! You ain't getting it!"

The dinosaur finally made it out from behind the table. Impatiently, Spike rammed a salt shaker into its eye, snagged its nearly full bottle of bourbon and threw his own drink over the slimy demons at the next table. "Make some mess, create a ruckus."

Buffy punched Spike, sending him clear over the bar and into the bottles behind. He grinned at her and vamped out, adding another unbroken bottle to his own personal collection as he stood. "That's more like it!"

The sensible demons, including the one working the bar who'd seen Buffy kill a Rash-maal with no visible effort, took this opportunity to leave. The rest charged at the Slayer.

It wasn't a long fight. Even though her hand eye co-ordination wasn't what it should be, Buffy made methodical work of her attackers, and when Spike finally pulled her out of the bar she was no worse for wear. The vampire was tinkling, coat bulging suspiciously and a bottle in each hand. He passed one to the Slayer and she squinted at the Mexican label. "Was that about killing bad guys or stealing drinks?"

"Though you'd be too drunk to notice," he admitted easily. "Maybe I miscalculated. And that was _about_ having fun. You know, killing the bad guys, saving all the fluffy puppies, you used to like that sort of thing."

"I liked punching you."

"There you go then, walking entertainment at your service. Hang on a minute."

He balanced his bottle on the top of a tombstone, almost invariably the nearest thing at hand in Sunnydale. The Slayer watched bemused as he stripped off his duster and draped it over the same stone with the exaggerated care of a very drunk person.

"There you go, have at it."

Buffy shook her head with a giggle. "You've ruined the moment. It was that smashing noise that made it fun."

"Ha! You had fun!" He cast a reluctant eye back to his recently stolen booze. "Shame to waste all that drink, though. Down that one, you can hit me with the empty bottle."

Obediently the Slayer parked herself on the low cemetery wall and took a mouthful that would have been a measure in England. She was far too drunk to consider that the idea of downing a full litre of tequila and then doing _anything_ was absolutely ridiculous.

"What are you doing?" she asked as Spike sat beside her.

"Getting you drunk so I can seduce you," said the vampire cheerfully. "Now drink up."

"You shouldn't do that," answered Buffy seriously

"Why not? You're already pretty tipsy. And emotionally vulnerable. Prime time to strike."

Despite herself Buffy smiled, but firmly screwed the top back on her tequila bottle. "I'm not _that_ tipsy."

"Well thanks." But Spike was the original weeble, rolling right back up for more. "It'd be fun."

"Like a bar fight was fun?"

"You used to think fighting was fun. It would be, if you let yourself go a bit. Let yourself enjoy it."

"Maybe the part of me that enjoyed stuff stayed dead," said the Slayer morosely.

That wasn't really a feeling the vampire could relate to, the part of Spike that revelled in life hadn't been born till he died. Even when miserable, he enjoyed himself in a masochistic way, wallowed in his misery, made huge dramatic gestures and starting brawls was an important part of that process.

"Lets test that theory out, scientific-like." He leered and Buffy gave him a watered down, drunken version of _that_ look.

"Would I have to be naked for this test?" she asked dryly.

"Yeah."

"Then no."

"Fair enough. What if-"

"If you're about to suggest any kind of costume, I may have to kill you."

The vampire subsided with a pout, brightened as he remembered the bottle. "Got enough booze to keep you pissed for a week, that ought to cheer you up."

Buffy pulled a face. "Getting drunk does not cheer me up."

Spike looked with some disappointment at the bottle in his hand. "Bugger. Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Well damn."

"You could always just drink it yourself."

"But I wanted to help! There's only two things that cheer _me_ up, and you won't have sex with me. I don't know what else to do."

Buffy obviously didn't have any suggestions either because the silence stretched. Because he was drunk and daring, and she'd allowed it a week ago, Spike draped a companionable arm around her shoulders. She shook him off angrily. "Don't, Spike."

The vampire rolled his eyes, an impulse he regretted when the cemetery rolled on for moments after his eyes stilled. "Don't what, pet?" he asked when the scenery stopped spinning. "Cop a feel of your vertebrae?"

"Don't get all... friendly."

Even through a cushion of wine that one hurt, and it took more effort than usual to bite back the angry retort. "We can't be friends? Because I sort of hoped we were."

"You don't want to be friends. You want..." Buffy glanced round the cemetery furtively before uttering the last word. "...sex."

"The two aren't mutually exclusive you know." And mostly because he wanted to make her smile he added. "Go on, Slayer, just shag me. Who's it going to hurt?"

"You," answered the Slayer quietly.

"What's that, love?"

Buffy uncapped the bottle again, took another swig. This time the gag reflex didn't kick in till the third gulp.

"I said you, you moron. Are you drunk or something? Look, I have to go home now."

"No. Don't go, Buffy. Explain that one to me."

"Well it's not going to hurt me, is it? Life can hardly get any worse."

"I don't think that's a wise thing to say on a hellmouth," Spike joked. "And I'm still not getting it. How, exactly, do you think nailing your pretty little self will do me anything but a power of good?"

He kept his tone light, the contact between their upper arms casual. Even drunk, Spike could sense the beginnings of a serious conversation and he didn't want to let her slip away; he figured it unlikely that she'd ever fall for the 'couple of quick drinks' trick again.

"Because you'd think it meant something, and it wouldn't and it would all be... horrible. And you've been nice to me, kind of, I don't... I don't want to make things horrible for you too."

"Darn," said Spike flippantly. "Foiled by my own niceness. You know, Slayer, I wouldn't mind some of that horribleness. And I ain't talking about sex here. I'm evil, I'm at home with horrible. I'd take it all from you to see you happy."

"I have to go home."

Right. End of conversation then. The Slayer wobbled uncertainly to her feet and Spike followed to steady her arm. She wobbled some more, stumbling against his chest, then out of nowhere she was bawling. Weeping loud, snotty floods of tears, choking out noises between sobs that made no sense even to vampire ears. Vaguely aware that he was taking advantage, Spike pulled her close against him.

"Let it out, love. It'll not stay this bad forever."

"This is your fault!" she cried, pushing him away with a half-hearted strength that the vampire ignored. "I was... I was fine."

"No you weren't."

"Well I wasn't crying! You made me cry!" She took a firm hold of his arms, holding herself steady or trying to force him away from her Spike wasn't sure. "What did you do to me?"

"Got you drunk, pet," Spike explained unrepentantly. "'S good for you."

"I don't feel good. You were supposed to help."

"I'm helping as well as I know how."

She made another feeble attempt to escape his bearhug, giving up with another sob and settled for wiping her nose on his T-shirt. "Well that sucks. I hate you."

"That's okay, you let it all out. What the drink's good for."

Buffy made a derisive noise between snuffles. "I tell you I hate you all the time."

"Point," agreed Spike, far too drunk to remember this little conversation was meandering without a point. "Though not so much lately. So why's it me you've been coming to for a pick-me-up?"

"Because I hate everyone else more? And let go of me."

"No. You'll fall over," said Spike firmly. "And you can't hate _every_ body. What about Dawn? She's less irritating than most of your friends."

This set off fresh wails of drunken anguish. For several minutes Spike could only rub her back and murmur platitudes of the let it all out variety as Buffy regressed to vowel only words.

"What was that, love?"

"I said I hate Dawn too. Sometimes I hate her most of all. If it wasn't for Dawn I could have jumped straight back off that tower and I wouldn't be _here_."

"My poor girl. Is it really so bad being here?"

This time when she pushed him away she meant business, and though her centre of gravity wasn't precisely central, anger alone seemed to keep her upright.

"Have you just not been listening to me? I was done. Finished. Happy. And none of this stupid life mattered even a tiny bit. It was such a high, you couldn't imagine, not a high just... perfect. And I was perfect. And now I'm back here and this life still doesn't matter and there's no point and I could have it all back. All I have to do it die. Every day I get up and have these stupid conversations about my long term goals and I don't _care_ , I just want to be dead."

Well he'd told her to let it all out, his own fault if he was chilled by the utter bleakness inside. Her grief was choking him, he could think of no comfort to offer. Buffy stood aloof, tiny now her speech was done, tear streaked and crumbling.

"Is it true that you go to hell if you kill yourself?"

"Yes! A special hell, the really bad one." Though she batted him away, Spike gathered her in his arms again in silent consolation. The part of him that may have appreciated eternal rest was gone more than a century since and Spike couldn't ever now understand wanting to be finished. He'd genuinely believed, as much as one can believe after three bottles of wine, that getting Buffy drunk and weepy would help. More at least than iron reserve and plastic smiles. Now he wished he could put the genie back in its bottle; while he couldn't empathise with her feelings neither could he disagree with her logic. The simple and permanent solution to all Buffy's misery took her out of his reach forever.

"It's only another eighty years. What's that to an eternity of perfection?"

She didn't answer, her fingers tightening painfully on his arm, and it wasn't until her other hand flew to her mouth that Spike realised she was going to be sick. He held her hair as she retched tequila out onto the grass, held her up as the exertion of heaving made her faint. Buffy stayed doubled over for long minutes until Spike gently pulled her to her feet.

"Let me walk you home, love."

"I'm okay. I'm fine. I don't need walking anywhere."

"I know. But let me anyway, just this once."

 ****

Chapter Three

At some point during the walk back to Revello Drive, Buffy had given up on the independent standing alone thing. She allowed the touch as Spike's steadying arm became almost carrying her. Still she managed to trip up the step to the front path, trip again on an uneven stone, then finally disentangle herself at the front door.

"You gonna be alright, love?"

"Fine," Buffy muttered, turning away from him and starting a slow search for her front door key.

"Regular-miserable fine? Or falling up the front steps and then choking on your own vomit fine?"

Though her head was ducked Spike thought he could see the beginnings of a smile hiding under all that golden hair. "Fine," Buffy repeated firmly.

"You want me to come in? Tuck you-"

"No." Though he was hardly crowding, Buffy put a restraining hand on Spike's chest. "No. I'm sorry Spike, I shouldn't have... That is... You can't come in."

Spike caught her chin, and though Buffy frowned she allowed him to turn her face to his for a moment. "Only trying to look out for you, love. Ain't expecting a bone for walking you home."

The Slayer flushed, turned away, started rummaging through more invisible pockets, and gave up after a few seconds. "I'm here for whatever you need," Spike added softly.

"You make like a doormat and people are going to walk all over you," Buffy snapped back. "Didn't your mother ever tell you that?"

"Everyday. Promise you'll wear your red stilettos? And no-"

He was giving her his best lecherous grin as he spoke, the one that had once had lesser girls creaming their knickers across crowded bars and wandering helplessly onto his fangs. But all the same Spike was surprised - nay, shocked - when he wound up with a mouthful of Slayer. The hand that had been holding him away was now bunched in his T-shirt, keeping him in place as she attacked his lips.

For a second he was too stunned to react, and her momentum and grip carried them both backwards. Too drunk to stand upright for two, Spike put his hands on her shoulders to steady them both and before his brain had time to pull back his body was responding to her intimate kiss. Spike was suddenly understanding the expression sucking face, because kiss just wasn't a strong enough word. Teeth clashed as she delved into his open mouth, her small warm body crushed against his, wrapped around him, all those delicate curves he'd never dared touch now pressed against the vampire's lean torso.

Spike was helplessly caught up in the moment, cupping her face now, rubbing against her heat until Buffy whimpered into his mouth. A tiny sound that tugged simultaneously on groin and heartstrings and brought Spike crashing down to a rather fuzzy understanding of the present.

All the blood needed for thought was busy in other places and watered down with booze, but Spike was used to that handicap. One thing he'd never dealt with before was Buffy, clinging limpet-like to him, leg wrapped around his, one hand trapped between them, the other snaking up to the back of his neck.

They were making out, mouths open, like hungry teenagers and even as Spike marvelled at it from a birds eye view, he could feel himself getting lost in her. Could feel her urgency, taking him over, knew where this was going and jerked his head back while he still could. And then the warmth was gone as Buffy scrambled away from him. Her hasty escape was foiled by her own shoe and she landed heavily on her backside. Spike just watched her tumble, brain still temporarily absent.

Buffy looked like he felt, hand covering the shocked 'O' of her mouth, eyes nearly as round. For long moments they both stared, the vampire bracing himself for the fireworks that would surely follow but when she finally spoke her voice was subdued, the words not what he was expecting.

"I taste of sick, don't I?"

"No! Well yes, but your sick is mostly vodka so... Did you just kiss me?"

"No." The word was muffled as Buffy buried her face in her hands, making no effort to regain her footing. Spike dropped to his knees beside her but didn't dare touch, any remaining good sense desperately battling desire.

"I'm not looking to get myself staked tomorrow, so best you get yourself to bed, okay?"

Buffy nodded, at least her head moved, the rest of her stayed folded around her knees on the garden path.

"C'mon love, up you get."

"Go away."

"Can't leave you here outside. Get yourself in the house and I'll go away."

The only answer he got was a stifled sob and Spike quickly dropped the no touching rule to put his arm around her shaking shoulders. His body was still on fire, and even that much contact was electricity to him. Buffy didn't seem to notice.

"I'm so sick of being miserable!" she wailed into her hands.

"It'll end, love," Spike murmured, still disorientated by her pendulum moods. "It's bad now but it will get better."

"You don't know that! Maybe it's just... the important parts stayed dead and it'll never get better. I'll never be the same person."

"'Course you won't. Stuff changes you and you get older and wiser and all that bollocks. You'll be a new person."

"Someone who gets drunk and kisses vampires?" she spat bitterly. "Even you think I'm repulsive now."

"You are not repulsive!" Spike forcibly hauled her out of the foetal position till she was crouching level with him. "A little snotty maybe. Blotchy, some might say... bleeding hell Slayer, cut it out."

She hauled herself the rest of the way up, tottering unsteadily and Spike followed. He was slowly coming to the conclusion that anything he did and said tonight was destined to make Buffy cry.

"Snotty and blotchy and dead and repulsive."

Spike kissed her again, backing her against the porch support. He knew he shouldn't but her lips were reddened by their previous exertions, pouting and asking to be devoured. Eyes so wide and vulnerable as she declared herself repulsive that he was lost for the words to say just how ridiculous that was. This time it was Buffy who ended the kiss, even as her hand cupped his hipbone, holding him against her.

"Spike..."

"Sorry pet. Definitely not repulsive."

Buffy looked down and away, biting her lip and not letting go.

"I don't want to be with you."

"I know, sweetheart."

"But... You make me not miserable. A little bit."

The vampire raised a surprised eyebrow. And here was the part where he said something chivalrous and took his leave but she lifted her eyes to his at exactly the wrong moment and Spike's lips were stealing another kiss, the rest of him following helplessly behind. Again, it was Buffy who broke away, but not until she was gasping for air.

"Right bad idea, this is."

Buffy agreed with a nod and they were kissing again. This time, Spike was too far gone to say or care who started it. When she ground herself against the bulge in his trousers it was one shock too many and Spike was of no mind to resist, floating on a high of sensation. Though it was Buffy with her back to the beam there was no doubting who was in control, her leg hooked around his, hands grasping everywhere. Stretching herself up on tiptoes until she was grinding in exactly the right place for both of them.

Spike was without thought now, beyond sensory image. The feel of her warm breasts crushed against his chest, the rub of her pebbled nipples through two layers of thin cotton as they undulated with the kiss. Rough denim scraping over his foreskin. Buffy's fingers digging into the flesh of his back, Buffy sucking on his tongue like it was the new oxygen. Buffy's hand reaching between them, slipping into the waistband of his jeans. That last woke the vampire from his hungry frenzy and he pulled his mouth away, though he couldn't quite bear to break the contact between their bodies. Her eyes flew open.

"Buffy..."

She leant forward to recapture his open mouth but with his last scrap of self control Spike held his head away, hands now firmly on her shoulders. Trying to resist even as his hips moved in tiny circles, pressing the seam of his fly against her pubic bone and questing fingers.

"Tomorrow, love," he gasped out.

"Tomorrow is all the stuff I don't want to think about."

"Like how much you'll never speak to me again, or how much you'll stake me?"

Buffy froze in her movements, tugging on the top fly button of Spike's jeans. Hazel eyes met his blue ones and Spike could see the uncertainty there, beneath the lack of focus and redness left by tears. Objectively speaking, the girl was a mess. Her remaining makeup smudged every which way, face blotchy, garden debris clinging to her clothes and hair. But flushed and panting she was the most beautiful things he'd ever seen and Spike could not let go. If lust hadn't held him those eyes would, so much older than him, so desperate for something.

Spike was so hard now it was painful and he longed for the flick of her fingers that would release his constraint even though he knew he shouldn't let this madness go one step further. Knew how it would seem in the cold and sober light of day. When she regretted him.

"Do you want to run?" Buffy asked quietly.

And even now, when she held him helplessly enslaved to the warmth of her body, Spike could hear the fear of rejection. When almost all he could think was to be inside her.

"No love. God, no."

And finally, finally she moved, popping open his fly and allowing his cock to spring out into her hand. And there was a part of Spike that really did want to run, that had only wanted to help and didn't want the inevitable angst the next day. But as her warm fingers circled the swollen head of his dick it was a very small part, outvoted by the rest and consoling itself that it really was too late to turn back now; both lost in a sudden urgent need to be touching flesh.

Spike's hands made short work of her blouse, reducing it to its component pieces of material in his eagerness to touch. Buffy barely heeded the loss, her arms around his neck, back against the pillar, lifting herself up until they were nose to nose. Her cotton panties rubbing against his bared erection, breasts arching into his cupped hands.

"So fucking soft," he murmured against her cheek. "My beautiful girl. So soft."

He moved one hand slowly over her belly, tentatively moving down to the waistband of her skirt, but Buffy was faster, pulling the billowy material aside, ripping at her own underwear. While Spike was kissing her neck, getting to know that ivory skin for the first time, Buffy grasped at his erection, lining him up with herself.

Spike stopped kissing then, pulled back to stare at her as his cock nudged her slick entrance. She stared back, determined and serious, raising her arms over her head to clutch at the guttering and steady her body as she lowered herself onto him, inch by excruciating inch. And every impulse, natural or forced, to go slow was wiped away by her daring. Spike gripped her hips, slamming himself home, and she closed her eyes with a muffled gasp.

"Oh fuck, Buffy. Oh Jesus fucking Christ."

Her legs were wrapped tightly round his waist, holding him inside as her delicate muscles slowly strangled his cock. The heat was almost too much to bear, magnifying every sensation, a world away from the five cold fingers that had filled Spike's masculine needs over the summer.

"So good, love. So hot, can you feel it?"

She made no answer in words but raised herself slightly, her back arching as her arms took her weight, body shuddering as she sank back down. Starting a slow rhythm in which they could both get lost.

"Mmmm. Shit Buffy. So good, so gorgeous. My beautiful girl-"

She shut him up with a kiss, deep and intimate as the feel of himself inside her. Spike carried right on talking with his tongue and fingers as she rode him. The slightest pressure of his thumb on her clit and she was coming, clenching around him with an inarticulate groan. The sound of her pleasure, a breathless rumble against Spike's ear, was enough to send him following over the edge.

Buffy let go of the roof to wrap her arms tight round his neck, all her weight on the unsteady vampire. He could hear her breath catching as they both came down. The feel of her snuggled against his chest, panting into his collar, breath warming his neck, was enough to keep the vampire hard inside her. He ran his hands over her back, caressing, kissing her hair. He could hardly help his fingers moving to her softer curves, creeping between their pressed bodies, exploring as he'd tried to do earlier. She shifted against him, sending tantalizing ripples of pleasure from where she gloved him.

One arm holding Buffy up, Spike teased his other hand through her sandy brown curls. Slipping down to circle her clit, over the skin stretched tight round the base of his erection. He could feel her blood rushing up to meet his gentle touch, rousing the breathless girl in more ways than one.

"I thought you just... um..."

"Yeah," Spike agreed with a growl, leaning in to kiss her collar bone and causing his angle inside her to change again, lifting her up to kiss lower, and the Slayer whimpered as he slid out a little. He hardly even had the excuse of drunkenness. His blood might have a higher alcohol proof than your average bottle of vodka but lust aside Spike was clearheaded; he knew it wasn't so for her "You think we're done?" he whispered into the valley between her breasts.

Now that the chilly evening breeze could slip between them, her titties were hardened handfuls, puckered nipples standing proud in the cold night air. Spike ran the tip of his tongue over the crinkled skin of her areola and Buffy shivered.

"Spike, I..."

"Not yet, love. Please not yet." His thumb danced in rhythmic patterns around her clit and her eyes fluttered closed. Spike could hardly bear for it to be over yet, his body still aching with desire, his mind unwilling to accept they were already starting that miserable slide to the morning after. He sucked her nipple into his mouth, pressed harder on her clit, wanting to touch as much as possible, wanting to distract. She moaned softly and he released her with a pop, blowing gently on the moisture he left. "If I'm going to get staked tomorrow I should at least get to see you naked."

Too late he found his words countered the melting affects of his touch, she stiffened with the return of self awareness.

"Spike, people can see."

"There's no people left daft enough to come out at this hour."

He dipped his head back to her breast but Buffy pulled away, loosening his grip and causing Buffy to slide back down his hard pole with a surprised yelp.

"Fuck!" Spike exclaimed with feeling, moved gently inside her. "You don't wanna stop now, love. It gets so much better." He curtailed further protest by swinging round the porch support and bounding up the front steps, still firmly buried in her warm depths. He paused at the door to kiss her thoroughly and she let him.

"I can show you so much more than a quick fuck, my pretty. Let me, please."

"Spike," she said again, but the word was less of a protest and more of a plea.

"They're all asleep, love. Let me take you to bed." Another kiss, her lips soft and pliant against his, her arms still tightly around him. It was close enough to a yes for the vampire, and he took her inside to bed.

********

"Spike. You bit me."

It was the tone of her voice that woke the vampire from his sated stupor; an octave higher than usual. He lifted his head from her stomach to blink at her sleepily.

"Yeah, love. Sorry 'bout that. I didn't mean to... I guess I forgot that you wouldn't like... Sorry."

Spike was snuffling back down onto the deliciously scented pillow of her belly when she spoke again. A faint tinge of panic to her voice that woke the vampire thoroughly.

"No. Spike, you _bit_ me."

"Oh." Slowly Spike focused on the curve of her bosom, the tiny red puncture marks already healing round one swollen nipple. He opened his mouth to protest it was nothing more than a love bite, gone in hours, as he met her saucer like eyes he slowly made the connection Buffy had already jumped to. Light dawned and her panic spread. "Oh fuck."

 ****

Chapter Four

The chip hadn't fired. Spike barely remembered the bite, but he could be certain he would have noticed if the chip had fired. Even lost in the moment before the stars burst and the world exploded, sucking hungrily on her ripe breast as he'd pounded inside her, the fangs an unconscious hangover from a century with a girl who liked to be bitten - well even then, you notice having your brain electrocuted.

The fear on Buffy's face should have been entirely predictable, but it couldn't not hurt. Seconds ago Spike had been luxuriating in the sweaty afterglow and though he'd known it couldn't last, wouldn't last, was too good to be true... he'd hoped. One tiny revelation later and she was wriggling out from under him, struggling to sit up, arms automatically covering her naked chest, heart going as fast as it had when she'd been riding him.

"You bit me," she said a third time, as if waiting for him to deny it.

"I didn't mean to hurt you, love, I swear. It was a sex thing, yeah? Erotic, not... Last girl I went with was a vampire, y'know?"

The Slayer, already flushed with sex, blushed crimson. Pretty as a picture and Spike could feel himself hardening, despite the way she looked away from him, hands twisted in the bed sheets. "Your. Chip. Didn't. Go. Off."

"No." Spike reached out for her hand but she snatched it away. He held his own up in that universal gesture of truce. "I wasn't trying to hurt you - maybe it knew that?"

"That's bullshit. What the hell have you done?"

"Nothing!" Spike reached for her again and she shrank back. As far away from him as possible without actually putting a dent in the headboard. For the vampire who had spent years wishing this Slayer might show him even a hint of fear, it was a depressing thing to see his wish finally granted. "Stop that! You can't think I'd ever hurt you."

She met his eye then, glared with drunken fury. "I can still kick your ass, you scrawny little vampire."

And there was his girl. Spike managed a tiny smile as he soothed. "There you go, then. Everything's just as it should be."

"Your chip didn't go off!" Her voice was climbing to waking household pitch but Spike didn't know how to calm her, didn't know what to think his own self. Two minutes ago his brain had been stuck in a loop of 'Buffy let me shag her' - there wasn't the wattage left to deal with this new revelation. "It's intent," he tried, "or something. I wasn't _feeding_."

"Don't you fucking lie to me!"

In all her drunken ranting, and in all the 'more, faster, harders' that had followed, in fact in two years of close acquaintance, Spike had never heard Buffy use the F word. He had to bite his tongue to keep from mentioning it now, focus on the important point.

"I'm not lying."

"It went off when you hit Tara, and you weren't trying to hurt her. It went off when you hit that guy you thought was a vampire. It doesn't go by what you _think_ "

"Well I don't know! Bleeding thing didn't come with an instruction manual. I haven't touched it, Buffy, haven't even thought of wanting rid of it. Not since long before you died."

"Then it's broken, and... Oh God..."

The damn of rising hysteria burst, one deep, shuddering breath and Buffy was sobbing again. This time, cringing away as she was, Spike didn't dare put his arms around her.

"Hush, love," he murmured. "It'll be okay." Spike had a sinking feeling that it wouldn't but one thing at a time and he couldn't think of the dizzying implications of the sex and the biting while there were tears. The tears, at least, were fixable, ninety percent vodka and Spike had seen enough of drunken humans to know he could have sat her down to watch 'Bambi' and she'd be bawling like the world was ending. "Go to sleep, I'll bet you'll not even remember this in the morning."

"Spike!"

"It's okay. It's a fluke. It's... something. It's okay."

"It's a curse! I sleep with people, then I have to kill them. I'm like that black widow woman."

"That's not true. Soldier boy's not dead, is he?"

 _Well,_ Spike thought, _that was a consoling argument_. But it turned out the Slayer didn't want him bringing it up because she thumped him. A sloppy kind of hit that left less of a mark on his bare chest than her earlier caresses but she made up in quantity what was lacking in quality, until she was flailing at him with uncoordinated rage. It was a stage of drunkenness Spike was very familiar with and just how he liked his meals - stupid enough not to freeze up in fright when they saw him, conscious enough to put up a fight, and a lovely second hand buzz when he finally fed. He let the girl wear herself out though it was hardly a conscious decision, distracted as he was. Her breasts were exposed again, now she'd found another use for her fists, and jiggled temptingly with every impact. Spike wished - though the word was hardly strong enough - that he'd never bitten, that she'd never noticed, and they could be warming up for round three right now.

When she started flagging Spike didn't give her time to regain the earlier distance, pulling her tight against his chest to coddle and soothe. For a few moments she let him, sniffles fading away to gulping breaths.

"I'm done now. You can let go of me."

"Okay," Spike agreed, not moving a muscle. But apparently the Slayer had sobered up enough to not be entirely oblivious to these things.

"Would you go?"

"Okay."

The Slayer sniffed loudly, snuck a hand between her face and his chest to swipe at the tears. Spike snagged a spare piece of materials from the hordes of doilies and throws floating around her over-soft bedroom and she had a thorough, though ineffective, go at cleaning her face.

"I have noticed you're not moving, Spike, I'm not completely brain-dead. I'm just... I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Vodka," Spike explained succinctly. "And tequila. My fault, love, sorry."

"Yeah, it's the drink." Buffy agreed uncertainly. She caught hold of Spike's hands and peeled them away from her body, dragged the quilt around her until she was halfway to decent again. Which was a shame, in Spike's opinion, but this time at least she seemed to be collecting herself rather than shoving him away.

"I don't want to stake you, Spike."

That was something of a revelation for the vampire. He realised the tears weren't just the vodka, or self pity or shock. Some of them were for him. And _there_ he could help, reassure with words that weren't meaningless.

"And I don't want to be staked. You see how we're in agreement here? I don't know what's going on, I haven't- I didn't instigate any of this and I don't ever want to be your enemy again."

"They all say that. Then before I know it you'll be stringing goldfish and telling my mom I'm a slut."

Spike blinked. Decided he was best off not knowing. "Well not me."

"Well we won't ever know, will we? Because now I have to stake you."

"Now? Well that's... That's not so bad. I've had a good innings, ending on a high note, all that jazz." Spike wasn't quite sure if he was joking or not. The Slayer had never looked less of a threat, it was hard to quail at the thought of your imminent demise when your proposed killer was huddling under her bedding, blotchy with tears. But he knew his girl, and the steel that ran through her, how her hand never hesitated when her precious humans were at stake. If she decided he was a threat to mankind then he was as good as dust already. And it was true enough, there were worse ways to go. "Fantastic high note, by the way. Best shag I've ever..."

He trailed off at a threatening sniff from the Slayer. "For God's sake. Please don't start crying again. Anything but that."

"But I don't want to stake you!"

"Well don't, then. I won't give you reason, I swear."

Buffy snorted at that and Spike conceded a fair point. He'd long ago accepted the chip as immutable fact and didn't himself know now who he might be without it. "Then have Willow fix it. Or soul me up. Anything, pet, you say it and I'll do it. I'll leave town, anything."

Buffy's eyes lit up with those last words and Spike could have bitten his tongue because if there was any promise harder to keep than not doing anything stakeworthy it would be stay away from Buffy. But she looked marginally happier and so he wasn't going to take it back.

"You'd leave, really?"

"I'd rather you staked me, personally, but yes. You want me to go and I'll go." The dazzling, grateful smile she gave him was quite a payment, though maybe not enough to keep him going the rest of his undead existence. Spike grabbed her hips and pulled, until she was lying flat next to him. "But sleep on it, okay? Just... just a little while." She stiffened as he slipped an arm around her, but a few minutes of the touching going no further and she relaxed into his embrace. A few minutes more and the vodka finished its work, sending Buffy to sleep.

********

Spike hadn't intended to follow the Slayer into sleep but he must have done, because when he woke she was leaning over him, dressed now in T-shirt and track bottoms.

"Hit me," she demanded.

And just like that the night came back to him. Couldn't have been more than a couple hours since she drifted off, still dark outside, but it looked like that Slayer constitution had caught up with the alcohol. The girl hovering over him was all business, no trace left of last night’s tears, all the walls rebuilt. When he didn't immediately comply she prodded him and half heartedly Spike punched her shoulder. He thought for a second about faking the pain that didn't come but he was far too slow, while he was still considering the pros and cons of dissembling, the Slayer sat on the bed with a sigh.

"Not a fluke, then."

"Apparently not."

"You really didn't know, did you?"

Spike shook his head. "Not been killing, if that's what you mean."

"Have you hit anyone? I mean... was it working?"

"Punched the whelp a while back. It was working then, still remember the bleeding headache."

"When was that?"

"Day seventy-nine," the vampire answered automatically. "I mean, when you were... before you..."

"Yeah. Well it's stopped." She managed to meet his eye then, and added pointedly: "You said you'd leave."

So he had. Of all the stupid things to promise. But then Spike hadn't ever expected to be trying to cheer up a Slayer, weeping at the prospect of dusting him - who knew what might come out of his mouth in those unlikely circumstances. His head had been pounding, with alcohol, the heady smell of sex, confusion and the helplessness brought on by her tears.

"Buffy-"

"It'll be light soon. You need to go away. Far away."

Not like he hadn't heard that before but this time it hurt, that she couldn't be bothered to show even a tiny bit of regret about that. Arms folded, face determined, he knew there was no point arguing with her. But regret would be nice.

"You're glad about this, aren't you? Rather have me out there killing people than here being in love with you."

"No!" She glanced away, ran a hand uneasily over the crumpled bedspread. "I don't know. That chip was all kinds of wrong."

"And here's a nice neat conclusion to last night's mistake," the vampire concluded bitterly.

"No! Jesus, Spike, I thought that was what you _wanted_."

"To screw you? Because, well yeah, but I was angling for more."

"To get the chip out."

"Well I guess things change."

"Guess they do. Now get moving before the sun comes up."

She spoke harshly but Spike was all out of anger where his girl was concerned - he'd seen all too well how fragile that hard shell was. Not so long ago - even after he'd fallen in love with her - Spike would have considered it a privilege to be the one to break it. Careful what you wish for, as if he hadn't learnt that lesson too well already. He'd wished long and hard to be rid of that blasted chip and was now hollow at the thought of feeding again. Fresh human blood, that would never lose its attraction, but the thrill of the chase seemed an empty high compared to the night he'd had and never would again. And he'd have traded both - the hunt and the sex - just for the chance to stay here. Not even right here, in her sex scented bed, just nearby.

"Maybe Willow could fix it."

"She doesn't even know how it works." Buffy tightened her arms around herself defensively. "Please don't do this, Spike. Just go."

"I'd fix it, if I could. I'd put it back so I couldn't bite people. Do you realise that?"

"Well that's just twisted," said Buffy flatly.

"Was you that twisted me."

She didn't deny it, didn't say anything at all, turned her head away and didn't look as he got out of bed. Spike didn't even have the heart to poke fun at such maidenly modesty. He pulled his jeans on, knew he'd have to before she would look at him again, sat down next to her to begin the complicated business of lacing up his boots.

"Doesn't have to go this way, you know," he said when he'd finished, not without a touch of bitterness. "You could always try trusting me."

"I can't." Harsh again, but she added softly: "With myself I could. I do. But not... I couldn't stand the let-down, Spike. Don't you understand?"

He really didn't. To Spike's mind, caution was what took the fun out of life, or unlife, but he understood she wasn't about to change her mind.

"If you really love me, Spike, you won't drag this out, and you won't come back."

That was just low. The one thing he simply couldn't argue with. Spike abandoned his rather crusty T-shirt on the floor of her bedroom and slid on his duster. Then he left.

********

Buffy checked nearly every cemetery in Sunnydale that night, looking for something. A fight, a distraction. The ultimate evil that could finally take her down for good.

Spike had been added to the long list of things for which Buffy grieved, and like every new blow over the last two weeks, it felt like the last she could bear. Even drunk, the Slayer had never fooled herself into thinking Spike could be the solution to any of her life problems but he'd been a refuge, an ear she hadn't felt obliged to lie to. Someone who hadn't moved on since she died. And how she wished she'd never touched him.

It was a silly kind of logic and on some level Buffy knew that. The sex and the chip weren't cause and effect. He'd have found out sooner or later that the thing wasn't working and who knows who might have died with that discovery - better this way, but it didn't feel like it. It felt like Buffy's fault, punishment for not learning her lesson with Angel. And now Spike was roaming America doing unspeakable things that were also her fault and not here watching her back, breaking up the monotony of patrol with his asinine comments. Making her feel something, even if it was just irritation at his constant presence. She didn't, couldn't, let herself dwell on what he'd made her feel yesterday. Those memories, already fuzzy with liquor, were locked in one of the many boxes in Buffy's mind that she never intended to open again.

So stupid, pathetic, that Spike could be the straw that broke the camel's back but Buffy was already half buried by the straw, struggling with every fight to find a reason to win. There were no fights tonight; Sunnydale was dead. Buffy had to content herself with double checking every last haunt until she was tired enough to think about going home.

The house was in darkness when she returned, long after midnight. A tiny relief. Automatically she glanced at Spike's tree, even as she chastised herself for the mental labelling of _her_ back garden, but the vampire's favourite stalking spot was empty and the cigarette ends that littered the ground underneath were old and sunfaded. So Buffy was a little surprised when she flicked on her living room light and found Spike standing in front of her, offensively cheerful.

Not _very_ surprised. She should have known it was too easy. All the times the last two years she'd wished Spike anywhere but Sunnydale and he'd stubbornly stayed, getting under her skin - Buffy hadn't really believed he was gone. She had been mentally preparing herself for the day she'd have to stake him, worrying that she'd find herself lacking. With Angel it had been a stark choice - him or the world - and it wasn't until then Buffy had found the strength to finally end him. Spike, she knew, wasn't here to end the world or even end her. It would have been so much easier if he had, if he'd wanted a fight tonight he would surely have won. Mechanically she raised the stake in her hand but the words that came out weren't the threat she'd intended.

"You _promised_ me."

Spike grinned broadly. That infectious smile that Buffy rarely saw, devoid of sarcasm or lechery. A happy smile, as if this was all good fun and in a flash of anger Buffy wondered if it would really be that hard to stake him. She obviously cared more about his hide than he did.

"Stopped to fill the bike up just outside of San Francisco," he started conversationally. "Some tit with a frigging _ponytail_ called _my_ hair _girly_ , can you beli-"

"No! Spike, don't you dare. I don't want to hear."

"Just _listen_. So I punched him, obviously, and..."

Spike carried on talking but Buffy didn't catch the rest because she's stuffed her fingers in her ears and started to hum. It wasn't the most Slayerly move she'd ever made, but Buffy was beyond caring. She couldn't bear one more death on her conscience and shutting out the whole world had been looking like an attractive option ever since she'd been dragged back into it. What you didn't know for sure couldn't haunt you for the rest of your miserable existence, right?

Spike was still grinning, looking very much like he was trying not to laugh, and for a second Buffy managed to really hate him. The first moment in quite a long time. He was enjoying this, coming back here after he'd promised to leave and rubbing her nose in the evil that was him.

Strong fingers wrapped around her wrists and attempted to remove her hands from her ears. A brief scuffle followed, an unworthy little scrap for two creatures of myth and legend. Spike won by default when Buffy gave up, freed one of her hands to punch him. Spike took his bloodied nose with grin still firmly in place, held up his hands pacifically.

"... and my chip went off," he finished, before Buffy could find another way to silence him.

"You... What?"

"My chip still works. No stupid bikers on the menu for old Spike. Though for the record, I wasn't going to kill him - and he really was just asking for a smack in the mouth. It's not like I ran straight out to bite someone, I-"

Buffy held up a silencing hand and, for once, Spike actually stopped talking. A lot of careful thought went into the next syllable out of Buffy's mouth.

"Huh?"

Spike pointed to himself, an exaggerated gesture for the very young or the very stupid. "Pathetic has-been vampire that can't bite people." He seized her hands, swung her around and Buffy was too bemused to resist. She'd been bracing herself for the next Bad Thing, hadn't unbraced since she'd sobered up or maybe longer, good news was taking a while to filter through. "I've just hit everything human between here and 'Frisco and let me tell you it's given me one hell of a headache." And brain damage, judging by the stupid grin, and it must be catching because Buffy's mood was lifting while she was still struggling to make sense of what he was actually saying. She tried to tell herself she should be objecting to that cheerful confession of random violence but somehow she didn't.

"I don't understand," she admitted eventually.

Spike shrugged. "Me either. Ask the Army. But it works; I'm still harmless as a kitten."

Another time that might have raised a sceptical eyebrow - handicapped, yes, but Spike had never been completely clawless. This time Buffy let the exaggeration fly past.

"It didn't work on me."

"Told you it was a fluke. I don't want to eat you." And there was the smirk Buffy saw so much more than the smile. "Well," he added suggestively, "not in any way that would hurt."

"Maybe I'm not human." It was a sensible deduction and Buffy had said it aloud before all the ramifications had hit.

"Well you're not, are you?" said Spike reasonably. "You're a Slayer. And I think you're missing the point here. You, sweetheart, just lost your excuse for running me out of town. So I'm staying, you got that? Deal with it."

That last was said with a defiant little lift of his chin and Buffy couldn't say she was sorry. But right now she was in the grip of a whole new fear.

"It worked on me before I died. I'm not... I came back wrong."

"Bollocks." Spike seized her shoulders, Buffy batted him away half heartedly and the hands soon returned. "You're here, livin' and breathing, see?"

"Your chip works on everyone but _me_. It wasn't the chip at all. Willow didn't bring me back right."

"That's such poppycock." Spike kept a firm hold and Buffy couldn't find the will to get away from him. He put his face so close to hers she had no choice but to look. The sappy grin had vanished, blue eyes searching hers with an intensity that was hard to see. "You smell the same, taste the same. If you weren't you, believe me I'd know. Hell, Buffy, you still think like you - there's nobody else with such a talent of leaping to the worse possible conclusions. It's a stupid lump of silicone, it doesn't know anything. _I_ know."

"But Spike-"

"But nothing. Get the witches to check it out if you don't believe me. You're just the same girl you were, only a bit sadder, and there's nothing inhuman about that."

But I feel wrong, Buffy nearly said. Except, right this second, it wasn't quite true. She couldn't, _shouldn't_ be happy that Spike was still here, but it felt awfully like she was. It had been a while, she couldn't be sure, but there was a fluttering in her stomach very different from the hollow, aching depression of the last few weeks. Being Buffy she regarded that feeling with suspicion.

"You're not making this up, are you?"

"No! I wouldn't- Okay, you know what? I would. Be for your own sodding good. But I'm not. It works. Get your little techno-wicca to check that out too, if you like. No eating people for me."

She couldn't be happy. Spike had been a permanent headache that could only get worse now he'd finally gotten a taste of what he wanted. But he was smiling again and Buffy had to fight the inclination to smile back.

"You're completely insane, I hope you know that. I don't know what the hell you're so happy about - you used to like biting people."

Spike shrugged again. Let go her shoulders and flopped onto the sofa. "Here I am, here you are also. I reckon I've got my priorities straight."

"I'm not sleeping with you again."

To her surprise that made not the slightest dent in Spike's good humour. "Fair enough."

"I mean it, Spike. I'm glad you're still... y'know... but that doesn't mean... I can't get involved with you - I don't want to. I was drunk and I didn't... I don't-"

"Slayer! I heard you already, I get it. But I have heard it once or twice before, so you'll excuse me for not giving up all hope."

He winked at her and Buffy gave up her little internal struggle and smiled at his ridiculous optimism. There'd be trouble ahead, most certainly, but for now she smiled. Spike pulled a silver hip flask from the depths of his duster and waved it at Buffy.

"So, Slayer, fancy a drink?"

The End


End file.
